Too Young To take Over, Too Old To Ignore
by Fiyeraaron
Summary: Enjolras moves from the city to the middle of nowhere, and his parents seem adamant they're staying.


"Sorry, Enjolras. We can't change all our plans just because you don't want to make new friends."

It's not that he _doesn't_ want to make new friends. It's that he knows he _won't_ make new friends. He's not exactly 'friend' material, he hasn't got good 'people skills'. In his defence, he can't help it. All the people at his last school were self- righteous idiots, he had a right to call them out on it.

They're moving house. To the other side of the country, in fact. He doesn't know why they suddenly have to up and go, leave their whole past behind them, and move to somewhere in the middle of the country. But they do, and apparently he has to stop being a whiny baby and just accept it.

He went to a private school. Yes, with the stoic, grey uniforms and strict 'no girls allowed' policy. If your grade dropped below a B, you were cut. If you didn't have your shirt tucked in, you were made to stay behind after school for an hour. It was strict, unbelievably so; harsh, and, most of all, snobbish.

They had lived in a clean, safe, expensive estate. Their house was big, the neighbours were nice, and all the cars were shiny and the gardens regularly cut. It was the stereotypical, rich person's life. He guesses that made his father the stereotypical rich man. A business man, always out late, missed most of his birthdays and never paid much attention to christmas. And, naturally, his mother was the stereotypical rich man's wife. She didn't have a job, but she spent her time drinking, hosting the weekly book club, and reading fashion magazines. He was closer with the maid than he was with his mother, which really said a lot about their family. That, by unspoken law, made him the stereotypical rich man's son.

Not that he liked being pretentious and snooty, but it was how he had been raised, and he was too far into the routine of walking on 'the good side of town' to start acting reckless and letting his grades drop. So, yes, he reluctantly admits that he actually likes having his shirt tucked in, and relishes in the fact that he has straight A's.

It's routine, it's normal. Which is why he is so angry that he is being forced into a different life that he has no idea about.

Okay, that's a lie. He did look the place up. He did check out his new school's credentials. He isn't happy. Not at all.

They're moving to, practically, the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the country side. They're moving from the city, to some place where they have limited access to Starbucks. He checked. The nearest one is two miles away from his school. It's mortifying.

But no matter how hard he protests, or how many letters of complaint he formally writes to his parents, they won't stay where they are. It's disgusting.

When they arrive in the town, it's dark. Their silver car looks out of place in the dim street lights (most of which are either flickering, or completely blacked out. You wouldn't find that in their old neighbourhood), and he can faintly hear the engine of the moving van behind the car.

He hasn't seen the new house yet, so when they pull up outside a two story, semi-detached house he nearly screams. That's one less floor than their old house, _and_ they're attached to another house. What if they can hear inside the other house? It's abysmal!

"Are you joking?"

"Seriously, Enjolras. Do not give us anymore witty comments, we've had enough to last us for a lifetime."

He huffs and drags himself out of the car. The moving people are already working together and lifting their furniture out of the van, waiting for his dad to unlock their new house's door. He had a key for his old house. He doesn't have one for this new one.

He looks at the front garden and he's already disgusted. There is as clear lack of professional attention to the grass, and the flowers look as though they haven't been watered in days. He can tell all this through the dark of- he checks his phone- 1:34AM. There is a pathway leading up to the house, but he stays on the sidewalk.

The house next door seems okay. There is no broken glass or boarded up windows, so he presumes they're respectable neighbours. The rest of the houses on the street look the same way, so he let's that fear go. Admittedly, they don't look as friendly and approachable as the posh businessman of their last neighbourhood, but he'll accept this.

He notices a gap between their house and the fence of the detached house, and realises that the back garden can be reached from the front garden. That's hardly safe. Surely murderers or robbers could get in. Maybe this type of undeveloped place doesn't have proper security systems or the proper etiquette for home protection. How reassuring. His faith is being _completely_ restored in this _amazing_ new place he is _so_ excited to call home.

He decides to investigate. He walks towards the back garden. Yep, this would be pretty easy for a serial killer to get into. There would be literally nothing stopping them. When he gets to the back garden, though, he stops.

There is a pond in the middle of the large expanse of grass, and he can see moon reflecting off of the water. It looks dainty and cute, so he guesses that's not that bad. And then he looks up, to the back of the garden. There's a large tree. With what looks to be a wooden treehouse placed strategically between the thick branches.

He smiles.

* * *

He wakes up to find that his bed still doesn't feel as comfortable as it did in their old house. His room is too messy, still filled with boxes, and he doesn't like the whiteness of his walls. His old walls used to be a light cream, and the change isn't working well for him.

It's been three days. It's Sunday now. They've all been striving to make this house feel like home, but up to now it isn't working. Either the mirror doesn't looks right on the wall, or the chair is the wrong size to fit next to the fireplace. Everything keeps making this new place seem as unfamiliar as possible.

It doesn't help that he has school tomorrow. He got a welcome pack through the post yesterday, and it states that there is no uniform. He can wear what he want. Unusual.

He got his timetable, a map of the school, and a time and place to meet a student who will show him around. Lucky him.

He doesn't know what to wear, but he's sure as hell not asking for advice from his parents, so he settles for a pair of jeans he bought to spend a gift card from his 16th birthday, and a red and black checkered top that he had received from his cousin last year. He goes with a pair of impulse-buy red Converse, and his favourite brown leather satchel for his first day of public school. That was normal, right?

* * *

The taxi drops him off at 8:00. That gives him 20 minutes to find the person and get to his lesson with 10 minutes to spare. He is nothing if not punctual and prepared.

The school is big and brown and old. There is a big bronze statue outside the front doors, a model of an old man holding a book. It holds no significance, though, as there is no inscription or explanation anywhere around or near it. Pointless.

He sighs, grabs his bag higher on his shoulder, and sets off towards the school. When he opens the heavy doors, he is greeted by the thick air of nothingness. Despite for the metal lockers adoring the walls, there are no people. No students, no teachers, nothing. Usually, half an hour before school started, the halls were packed at his old school. He guesses everything is universally different here.

Nevertheless, he follows his map and walks awkwardly down the halls. They all look the same, there's no way he's gonna remember how to get to the different classrooms.

It's 8:09 when he finds the classroom. It's the only blue door, while all the others are green, contrasting with the yellow-ness of the walls. He looks through the little window, but he can't see anything. He knocks anyway, and opens the door, cringing slightly at the way it squeaks.

When he enters, he looks around. It seems empty, so he drops his bag down at the first table and sits down on the grey plastic chair. He's had a stressful morning, what with getting up a whole hour after his alarm usually goes off (his old school started at 7:30, this one begins at 8:30), then having to deal with the lack of people to direct him to his welcoming student. Frankly, he thinks it's stupid to have the new kid walk around confusedly when he has no idea where he is, to find someone who is supposed to show him where to go. Idiotic logic. And also-

"Hey!"

He almost breaks his neck turning. At the back of the room is a boy no older than himself, grinning at him. He's wearing a similar outfit to his own, except his shirt is plaid and blue, and his shoes are dark green. His hair is black, but it had been cut short in a buzz cut, and he can see signs of a tattoo on his chest where his top buttons are undone.

He manages a weak smile, despite his utter shock. "He-hello?"

"You the new one?"

It takes a while to understand what he means. He nods. "Yes. Yes, I am the new student."

The man takes a seat on top of a table at the back. "Right. Where you from?"

"Well, actually, I'm fr-"

"Woah, hold up."

He stutters his word to a close and frowns confusedly. Was this normal manners here?

"What the hell is wrong with your voice?"

He clears his throat. His voice sounded normal to him.

"What- what do you mean?"

"It sounds posh and all 'I'm better than you'."

His eyes widen in understanding. "Oh, you mean my accent." The boy shrugs. "I'm from the city, that's how we talk there." He tries to smile.

"Yeah, you might wanna change that."

His smile drops. "What? Why?"

"That shit'll get you eaten alive here."

* * *

He learns that the boy is called Bahorel and that he was only doing the whole welcoming a student thing instead of doing an hour of detention because he set another student's locker on fire. Which makes sense, as he never actually showed him around anywhere, just told him how he was gonna be at the bottom of the social ladder, and that there's no way he's gonna survive in this school without a proper guardian.

Bahorel showed him to his class (the corridors were now bustling and crowded) and pushed a small innocent boy out of the way of the door for him, so he guesses that means he made a friend. Or whatever a friend is considered as in this part of the country.

His first class was Maths, and by the time he arrived after the detour Bahorel had took to the cafeteria to get, what he had so eloquently called, his 'morning grub', almost all the seats were taken, apart from two at the back. He sat in the one closest to the front, staying clear of the one behind him that clearly had a significant amount of gum stuck to the bottom of it.

The teacher wasn't in the class room yet, as it was only 8:28, so he got out his notepad and pencil case, and arranged them neatly on his desk.

"I wouldn't sit there if I were you."

He turned to the side. A man with long ginger hair and a delicate face was whispering to him. His hair was in a plait on his left shoulder, and it had daisies poking out of the strands. Looking down subtly, the man was wearing an oversized black T-shirt with a pink skull on it, with pink and green checkered jeans, and yellow Doc Martens. Even Enjolras knew this outfit clashed.

He politely replied, "why?"

"That's where Éponine sits."

He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm new here, I don't know who she is."

"That's no excuse. Just because you're new, she won't let you have her seat." This girl sounded horrible. This was probably why girls weren't permitted at his old school.

He gaped for a moment. "But," he pointed at the other free table, "that table has gum underneath it. That's unhygienic."

The man nodded. "Yeah, because that's R's seat. You can't sit there either."

Enjolras shook his head, looking around confusedly. "Well, there are no other seats, so this is where I'm staying." He looked forward and frowned at the clock. 8:31AM. The teacher was late. What else should he have expected?

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the man lean back in his chair and shake his head. He didn't care, as far as he knew, there was no seating plan (once again, unlike his old school), so the seat wasn't rightfully hers. He could sit where he wanted.

Just then, a man with a black suit and blue shirt walked through the door. He had dark brown hair and looked to be stumbling as he walked. He was holding a stack of red textbooks that looked near to falling, just like the pair of thick rimmed glasses on his nose. Enjolras guessed that his voice was just like his appearance; old and boring.

He set the books down on the main table at the front of the room. "Alright, everyone," Enjolras was right, "time to shut up. I'm in a bad mood, and we don't want another lesson like last week's, do we Marius?" The whole class turned to a boy at the front of the class room with sandy hair who was eagerly holding a pen and notepad in his hands. He was blushing and giggling, looking down at his table. Looks like Enjolras was wrong, this man was not old and boring. In fact, his voice didn't match his exterior at all.

"Okay, Marius, since you so kindly volunteered, please pass the textbooks to everyone. Thank you." He turned away to the board and didn't even wait for Marius to stand up, obviously expecting him to do as he was told without any protestation. To Enjolras' utter confusion, Marius actually got up, put down his utensils, and passed the books back to the row behind him. He expected less effort from a public school. Interesting.

"Right, so today we're gonna be doing chapter 5, so please get out your calculators and let's beg-"

The door opened with a loud bang against the wall. As soon as the noise was made, Enjolras swore all noise stopped and the room got colder. A girl strode into the room, a boy stumbling behind her. She had her right hand clamped on her right temple, and her left hand was gripping her red backpack for dear life. She seemed annoyed as she had a heavy frown on her face. Her hair was wavy and messy and the deepest brown Enjolras had ever seen. It looked similar to the man's, except his was shorter and his hands looked to be permanently glued to the polystyrene coffee cup in his hand that read 'stop-and-go' in white writing. Despite from the lack of noise being made by the rest of the people in his class, they didn't seem phased by the late comers. Neither did the teacher, who actually grinned as the pair stormed past the tables. To his utter fear, they seemed to be walking towards Enjolras.

"Éponine, Grantaire, we've missed you!" The teacher said loudly, smiling and leaning back in his chair. "I called Marius out on what he did last week, and I know you would have made some witty comment had you been here."

Oh, crap. That was Éponine. He was sat in her chair. Oh, god, no. He could hear faint giggling coming from his left side, and he almost snook a glare to the ginger man with the flowers next to him.

When she stopped in front of Enjolras' desk, he felt his heart stop. She looked at his feet first, as she dropped her bag next to them. She seemed to stare at them for a while, before her eyes eventually dragged themselves up him, resting them on his own. Her eyes were brown. Very brown. He heard a gasp from somewhere in the room, and he had a weird feeling it was from their teacher. She was looking at him blankly, and he swallowed as subtly as possible.

"_What_?" She said it in the most deadpan, monotonous way and he actually felt scared of her for the tiniest moment. Apart from her deadly one syllable word, she looked harmless. She was wearing a red skin tight vest top, with a denim skirt that flared as she walked. She had white thigh high socks on, over red ballerinas. She looked to be very short as well. She actually looked quite sweet, and he would've fell for the dainty look, were it not for what she said to him. "Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing in my seat?"

The boy looked over her shoulder, but Enjolras didn't dare look away from her eyes. He gulped and took a deep breath, but unfortunately for him, he did both these actions at the same time. This led to him abruptly coughing everywhere. For a long time. It honestly felt like his throat was constricting and shrivelling up. His eyes started to water, and he felt like he was dying. He knew moving house would bring his death, he just knew it.

When he finally recovered, he heard a few sniggers, but that was nothing compared to the stoic face of Éponine he received. From his left, he saw a bottle of water being tapped against his arm. He looked to his left and gave a very appreciative nod to the man (a friend?), before putting it up to his lips. However, it would've worked, had he actually unscrewed the lid beforehand. So, awkwardly, he took the bottle from his mouth and unscrewed the cap. It worked the second time, as he actually got some water into his mouth.

Too bad he choked. Yep. It sent water spluttering out and onto his notebook in front of him. He actually heard a full on laugh this time, but his face was too red and his heart was beating too loudly for him to give it much attention. He took his notebook of the table and gently put it on the floor, desperately trying to let none of the water spill off. He took a successful sip of water before stumbling to screw on the lid, passing it back to the man and looking up at Éponine again. She was now looking amazed at him, her eyes were wide and she looked like she could burst into laughter.

She turned to the teacher. "Seriously, who the fuck is this kid?" She let out a laugh as she said the word 'kid'. He was in her year, she had no right to be calling him a kid. They were the same age. And she was smaller than him by a significant amount anyway, so there.

The teacher cleared his throat, standing up and looking down at a sheet of paper. "Uh," he laughed a bit as he said it, "are you Enjolras?"

He nodded, still too embarrassed to say anything.

"Okay, Ép', this is Enjolras. He's new here."

She turned to him again, looking at him in the eyes. "Ah, that explains this whole situation then." She stuck out her hand to him. He looked at it warily, before wiping his sweaty hand on his jeans quickly and shaking her hand as fast as possible. "_Hi_," she elongated her words, as though he was a child, "my name is Éponine. This is my seat. You're gonna have to move." She stood up straight and moved out of the way for her friend, who snickered as he passed Enjolras and slumped down on the chair behind him.

He looked past her at the teacher. He stuck his hand up. When the teacher nodded, he began. "Sorry, is there a seating plan?"

"Well, no-"

"Right," he looked back at Éponine, "so this isn't your seat. I can sit here."

She blinked at him, her doe eyes showing him that this had never happened before.

She suddenly smiled, her voice going sickeningly sweet all of a sudden. "Mind taking a look on the table please?"

He looked straight down, mentally berating himself for obeying such a stupid and simple order. She sighed and sat on the table, her feet coming off the floor and swinging back and forth. He looked up at her again, confusion filling him.

She pointed at the bottom right hand corner of the table with a perfectly manicured hand. Engraved in the wood were the words 'Éponine's table'.

Oh.

"Sorry, pretty boy. This is my territory. Steal somebody else's table."

But he was too far gone now. He couldn't just stand up and move. There was no way he would ever make friends at this school if he let such a small girl win him over. No, he had to be resilient.

"No."

He heard the boy behind him sigh.

Éponine's feet stopped rocking. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "I said, no."

She once again turned and looked at the teacher. "Sir, permission to speak to this boy privately?"

The teacher smiled, but shook his head. "Permission not granted."

"_Damn_." She whispered, turning back to look down on him. She bit her lip and looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his top three open buttons on his shirt.

She jumped off of the table and landed on the floor with a gentle pat, shirking around and cocking her head at him. "Fine," she smiled, "we'll continue this later."

She smirked, winked at him, then twirled around and walked to the front of the classroom. "Sir, looks like I'll be taking up residence at your desk." The teacher looked amazed at what he had just seen, so he just nodded and stared, wide eyed at Enjolras.

Enjolras let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and felt a pat on his left shoulder. He nodded without looking, appreciating the support.

That didn't stop him from being nervous for the entirety of the lesson.

* * *

He tried to pack up his bag as quickly as possible in order to avoid speaking to Éponine again, but it seemed everybody else had the same idea earlier than him as their bags were already packed and they were filtering through the door by the time he even touched his satchel. He sighed. Even the teacher had left. How unprofessional. The teacher, Mr. Brujon, he learned, was making snide remarks about people all lesson, and was sharing in an unbelievable amount of inside jokes with Éponine and Grantaire. That would never be allowed in his old school.

Éponine was still sat in Mr. Brujon's chair by the time his bag was packed and sitting on his table. He sighed again. She was chewing a pen and staring at him as he looked down.

"What?"

She jumped a little when he looked at her, but apart from that, it didn't phase her. She actually just stayed in the same position, watching him carefully and assessing his every move. He knew she was going to end up talking eventually, so he just stood there waiting, looking right back at her.

She was actually quite pretty. He hadn't had chance to notice due to the utter fear and adrenaline coursing through him earlier, but now he had time and wow, she was attractive.

"So," she sat up and crossed her legs, leaning forward. "What made you think you could take me on?"

He knew this conversation was not going to be cordial. "Well, um, nothing, really. I was just already sat down and it would have been a lot of effort to move all of my stuff."

She didn't seem to be listening to what he said, busy twirling the pen about in her fingers. She looked up at him again. She didn't say anything though, instead standing up and walking towards him.

He stiffened. Oh, god. He was going to get beat up. How would he explain that to his father? He would be disowned for sure. He had only ever heard of bullies, never encountering such a phenomenon himself. As she advanced. His heart rate increased and he genuinely had a sudden fear that his heart would beat too quickly and give him a heart attack. But he didn't have time to think about that, as she quickly approached. He took an involuntary step back as she got about three tables close to him. She stopped, smiled at his movement, and took a daring step forward. It then progressed into her taking a step forward and him taking a step back routinely, until he was pressed against a poster for algebra, the laminated paper cold against his neck.

She was stood close to him. Stupidly close, I'm fact. Close enough that he could file her for harassment if he so felt like if. He didn't, of course, because having such a girl so close to him wasn't totally unpleasant.

She looked into his eyes. "Enjolras," the word was dragged out, she annunciated all the syllables. He found himself watching the way her red lips curved around his name, and he suddenly felt very weird.

"Yes?" His voice came out really low for some reason.

"Let me explain to you a thing, 'kay?" She smiled slightly, and he could feel her breath on his skin. "This is my turf. I'm head bitch around here. Do not mess with me, or I will have you taken care of. Understand?"

He nodded, wishing solely that he could touch her without getting inevitably slapped.

She stayed for a while. "You smell great, by the way."

She patted his cheek once before leaving him alone, still pressed against the wall. It wasn't until she had picked up her backpack from underneath her/his table and the door had slammed shut after her that he was able to step forward and breath again.

* * *

It wasn't that long before he saw her again. About five minutes later, she was in his psychology class. But instead of being sat on a chair, she was sat on another table, messing up a boy's hair. The boy was different from Grantaire, but had the same wild brown hair.

Once again, a lot of the tables were already taken, so he was forced to sit near the back again. Unfortunately, she was at the back as well. There was a seat between him and Éponine, so he figured that was a safe distance.

"Well, well, well." She said amusedly. He just put his bag on the floor and sat down, sighing but not making eye contact with her. "If it isn't Mr. Pretentious." She was swinging her legs again, and it was seriously distracting him.

The boy spoke over the noise of the classroom. "Who's this?"

"This, my dear friend, is Enjolras. He stole my seat last lesson."

"Ooh. Brave move, Enjolras."

He finally looked at them. She was grinning at him, a bemused expression plastered on her face. The boy, on the other hand, had his arms crossed over his chest, his legs splayed out under the table, and was smiling amusedly at him.

"Sorry, I know _you_," he looked at Éponine pointedly, but then directed himself to the boy, "but I have no idea who you are. My name is Enjolras, and you are?" He stuck his hand out to him.

The boy grinned, looking quickly at Éponine before shaking Enjolras' hand. "Courfeyrac. It's a pleasure." The boy seemed to ooze friendliness.

He sneaked a glance at Éponine as he took his hand back. He smiled smugly at her shocked face. "What's wrong, Éponine?"

"How come Courf' gets such a kind welcome, but I get sassy remarks along with my chair being stolen?" She gaped at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Because Courfeyrac didn't swear at me the first time he met me. It's simple manners."

She laughed once, and then looked to Courfeyrac, who was grinning up at her. She shook her head at Courfeyrac but laughed anyway. "Don't you dare." She giggled as he gave her a calculative look.

Enjolras found himself smiling at her. Weird.

"Éponine, since when are you taking psychology?" The boy from his last class (Marius, was it?) suddenly walked up to Éponine, blushing and grinning all the while. He was gripping his backpack tightly and shuffling his feet.

She smiled at him. "Oh, no, I'm not. I'm just here to keep Courf' company." Marius (?) nodded and looked down at the floor.

Enjolras butted in. "Wait, you're allowed to stay in the class?"

She looked at him as though he was stupid. "Yes, of course, it's just Mr. Babet."

He gave her a sarcastic look. "_Oh_, yes, how silly of me." His voice dripped with satire. She grinned at him. He had only spent one hour with her, and it already seemed like she only had two emotions: anger and amusement.

"Éponine, please take a seat."

He hadn't even noticed the teacher walk in.

* * *

She ended up sitting next to him. That ultimately meant that she whispered witty comments about every answer he had in class. When he was writing, she threw small, screwed up pieces of paper at him. When he was leaning into his bag, she would mess up his hair on the way. It was infuriating.

He couldn't have been happier when the bell rang.

Éponine immediately took Courfeyrac's hand and dragged him out of the class. Were they an item? They sure didn't look like it. But, then again, she was getting really close with him. Maybe.

When he walked out of the classroom and realised it was break time, a flush of fear ran through him. He had not made any real friends yet. Hell, the one person he had spoken to the most was Éponine, and he was sure that she wouldn't want to speak to him at break and lunch. This was a disaster. It was just going to be like his old school, with him sat alone, reading in his spare time.

He stood awkwardly in front of his locker (he had successfully wasted 5 minutes of break to find it), and attempted to unlock it. They had keys at his old school, much more easier. He had gym next, which he knew was going to be the worst experience in his life. Physical education was not a compulsory subject at his old school, they only encouraged you to do an extra-curricular sport after school. Luckily, chess was considered a sport in those freshly cleaned halls, so he kind of struck lucky. Here, however, it seemed being physically active was an achievement. Trophies and medals lined several large glass cases in the hallways of the school, mostly for football, basketball, and netball. He was hoping to god that he would not get marked on his ability to throw a ball.

"What you doing?"

He jumped and spun around, finding Bahorel stood behind him with a gym bag thrown hazardously over his shoulder. He looked as though he had been running, and he was kind of curious as to why that was, but Enjolras was still new at this school, and he didn't want to get the reputation of the needy, questioning kid who thought one conversation with another human being meant they were friends. He did not need that stamp of disapproval on his first day, especially when he was already on bad terms with Éponine who seemed to be widely popular within the school.

"Uh, I'm getting ready for class." He spun around again and put his folders in the locker.

"What lesson you got?"

Enjolras did not like the way the people at this school had a tendency to miss out words in their sentences. It was not what he was used to, and he always had to spend extra time working out how he was supposed to answer.

"Gym."

"Same. I'll take you."

He looked over his shoulder at him. "Oh, are you sure?" He cleared his throat, "I mean, you don't have to." He then turned around to face him.

Bahorel chuckled, the sound low in his throat. "Nah, you looked lonely. Seriously, have you made any friends?"

He blinked twice before replying, "not really."

Bahorel nodded. "Must be the accent". He was about to retort when the bell rang. Bahorel looked down the hallway. "Let's go, don't wanna be late for this lesson."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's gym!"

Enjolras grudgingly walked behind him. He hated sports.

* * *

**Yeah, so this is gonna be a multi chapter story. I kind of have an idea of where it's gonna go, but if you have any idea, please tell me. My mind isn't a very creative place. But, yeah, please review. It would mean a lot to know what everyone thinks. Thanks :)**


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